


A bittersweet taste

by crazy_lion



Series: Warm light and cold Winter [2]
Category: Demi Lovato - Fandom
Genre: Anorexia, Bulimia, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Friendship, Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, Motherly love, Reference to self harm, hard time for Demi, scars on Demi's wrists but there isn't a scene about her cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazy_lion/pseuds/crazy_lion
Summary: Sequel to The cats and the Christmas tree, which I advise reading to get a better understanding of the situation and the relationship between the two friends.After finishing up the Christmas tree, Demi offers to make some hot chocolate. When she finds herself face to face with the steaming mug, though, the crippling anorexia she hasn't beaten yet comes back to haunt her, in the form of a voice that's both insistent and reassuring. Demi's about to crack, but will she?Disclaimer: Through this piece of writing, published without any lucrative aim, I have no intention to give a thruthful representation of this person's nature, nor offend her in any way. It is not only valid for Demi, but also for all the other famous people I actually mentioned.





	A bittersweet taste

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the Italian version of this story and you can find it on www.efpfanfic.net, my nickname is crazy lion. My friend Emma (who is not a member of this site) translated it because I asked her and I checked and corrected the translation where necessary. We decided I could post it here.

**A bittersweet taste**

 

Demi and Andrew had finished putting up the Christmas tree for the second time a little while ago. Sitting on the couch, they were still cuddling with the cats. Jack was lying with his belly in the air and let Demi scratch him, while Chloe was comfortably curled up in Andrew's lap. He would pet her every once in a while, but he mostly let her rest, because she kept her eyes closed most of the time. After all, it was cold outside, which was rather odd for California, since Los Angeles always had a temperate winter which in turn gave the cats yet another reason to stay in and sleep instead of wandering around. The two friends were wrapped up in a soft and warm blanket Andrew's mother had made with her own hands. She loved to sew, and one could notice from the old sewing machine in the living room, complete with a needle and thread on top of it. That old thing originally belonged to her friend's grandmother, and Demi had never seen so much as a speck of dust fall over it.

"It's nice to be down here," she said. "And it really feels like your mom does things with love.”

It wasn't just an old saying, and even though it might have been so, Demi was sincere.

"Yes, you're right."

"When are your parents coming back? It's been more than two hours since we started putting up the Christmas tree."

"Oh, I have no idea! They probably found every mall packed because they waited until the last minute. Sadly, they don't have brothers, which means Carlie and I don't have any uncles nor cousins. The presents are for some friends of ours, including your family, but did they really have to get them so late? And last minute, too?"

"They must've been busy with other things before, if you think about it, they also have to cook for tomorrow's lunch."

"Yes, but it's nothing more than cooking some stuff up and clean the house, which to be fair me and my sister took care of, and working, they didn't really have anything else to do. They still had almost all the afternoon to do the shopping."

"Come on, quit moaning. They must have planned something out."

"You're right. I look like a fool. It's unlinke me to be like this."

Demi actually thought he looked more like a kid rather than a fool. She loved kids, and one day she would have loved to have children of her own. Not now, though, because she was young and still healing, and she couldn't really make decisions like that until she felt better physically and emotionally. It would have been right anyway. Despite that, the fact that she thought about the future and always saw a child was a great sign. It meant that she had hope, that she could move on.

"What are you thinking about?" her friend asked her. "You look off."

"I am," she replied, then told him everything.

"You'll be a wonderful mother, Demi."

All she did was smile back at him; and anyway, she didn't think she was going to be that special. Surely not as special as Dianna actually was.

"Is it okay if I make some hot chocolate?"

"What?"

"I just asked if ..."

"No, Demi, I get it. I'm happy for you."

Andrew was looking at her as if he had just seen an alien or something like that, or maybe he was just surprised.

"Why? And why are you looking at me like that?"

She shot him a quizzical look.

"Well, it's another step forward. The fact that you not only want to have the chocolate, but also make it, is another step towards full recovery. Tiny, yes, but important.”

Andrew was also scared, though. Scared that things could go wrong, that Demi could lose her happiness because of a maladie she hadn't fully healed from yet. And it wasn't just about anorexia. She also had to keep bulimia and self harming under control. Despite that, he didn't tell her about his fears. He didn't want to take that beautiful smile away from her. A smile so beautiful it could light up the world.

"You're right." Demetria was on the same page as him. "I didn't think of it that way. When I go back to the psychologist, after Epiphany, I'll tell her about it.”

Up until then she had been also followed by a psycotherapist, and both those professional figures had been a huge help for her. A while earlier, she and the psycotherapist had had a talk. Demi was feeling better, so much so that she thought she didn't need to visit her study anymore. The woman had put a lot of thought into it, and she told she saw her as a stronger person. There was no more need for that kind of therapy because Demi was stable enough, but she still had to go and see a psycologist and a nutritionist for a longer while, even a few years, just to get the help she needed. And she had also told her that, if she felt like it, she could have contacted her again.

"You're not going to visit her for so long?"

"She's on holiday too."

"Yes, but ..."

And even then the young man dismissed it all with a wave of his hand, as if to let her know it was nothing. What if Demi felt worse when professionals weren't around? To a stranger, his fears could have sounded like an exaggeration, but the truth was that he had already seen Demi suffer so much, and he had seen her be down in the dumps even in the present sometimes, that even the thought of something bad happening to her just caused him too much fear. And that fear wasn't going to leave for a long, long time.

"Alright, I'll get to cooking!" the girl squealed, running to the kitchen.

"Feel comfortable, as always," her friend replied.

After that he got up, placed Chloe on the blanket and went to find Demi.

She had just finished pouring the chocolate mix in a little pot with the milk, and was now busy mixing as she seldom poured more of that delicious beverage in.

"Are you having fun?"

"More or less. That's what happens with hot chocolate. You have to keep stirring, or it'll mess up. Once, when we were kids, Eddie made it for us. The only problem was that he stirred every once in a while, and spent most of the time watching the game.”

"Good Lord, I don't want to think of the result ...”

"The chocolate got sticky and clumpy, and the little my sister and I had in our cups tasted like smoke. I didn't even finish it. I always loved sweets. Well, when I got sick I hated them, and last year I would have told I despised them, but now I got my sweet tooth back. Anyway, I didn't finish it that time because it tasted horrible.”

"I can imagine that. Did you get angry about it?"

"Kind of, but mom was furious when she found out. Come to think of it she forced him to make it again for breakfast the next day."

"Knowing Dianna, I'd be surprised if that wasn't the case. How was it?"

"Wonderful, but I think mom helped him."

They talked about trivial nonsense for some time, while a sweet and inviting scent travelled all around the house.

"So, are you happy about going back to work?"

"I'd say so, even though it's hard. I mean, it's tiring. I started up again a little after leaving Timberline Knolls, and maybe it was a little too early just like everyone told me, but it helped me, though. If I stayed home doing nothing, the voices just came back.”

Andrew knew what she was talking about, so he didn't ask her anything.

Demi had gone back to the recording studio in March, sooner than anyone expected. The doctors said she actually needed tranquility and time to rest, and that was true. As soon as she got back home, after spending three months at the clinic, she felt like a tiny plant that could have broken at any moment. Apart from the warmth and the love she got from her and Andrew's family, which were really important to her, music had helped her too. She had started composing songs with the guitar, writing notes on her pentagram to avoid forgetting anything and then words on new pieces of paper as she tried to make the lyrics as perfect and harmonious as possible. She loved doing all of that because it distracted her, it was a great release and it helped her think. Music and singing were her biggest passions, without which she couldn't have lived, or if yes, her life would have been sad and hopeless. If she had gone back to Hollywood Records as soon as she was ready, it was just to push herself, to keep going on. In July, her single, _Skyscraper_ was released. Her album, though, was released in September. She had written and recorded some songs before going into rehab, back when she didn't know if she was going to. From March to September, she had worked hard. Too hard, according to Dianna, who often told her to stop and think about resting instead of just recording and composing. In the end, the album was a great success, and even though she was already thinking about the next, and about a documentary she had already started working on with her team, she had decided to take things a little easier. As she was thinking of all of this, she talked to her friend about it.

"I'm happy you want to take things slowly. And wanting to tell your story in a documentary makes you really brave."

"I think that if talking about my experience can save even one single person, then my suffering and my efforts to get better will be worth it.”

"You just said something beautiful." Andrew felt a lump in his stomach and throat. His voice had come out ragged. Demi was just marvelous: she was able to surprise with words so deep they touched his soul. "Anyway, what you've gone through and the things you are doing are already worth a lot, because you're trying to get better for your family, mine, and most importantly, yourself.”

"Yes." Demi spoke that word so softly that Andrew struggled to hear her. "I'm not that sure about it."

There, she had said too much.

 _You're stupid! You're just a stupid insecure little girl!_ she thought.

"No, it's nothing."

She didn't get into too much detail, but Andrew definitely wasn't going to let it go.

"Demi, please! Let it out! What are you so unsure about?"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, both to protect and reassure her.

She let out a shaky breath and decided to tell him something she had never told anyone.

"About actually fighting for myself."

Five words she kept locked inside for way too long.

"I think I get what you mean, but could you explain it a little better?"

Andrew was sweet, he didn't want to force her.

"Maybe I'm _still_ doing it _only_ for others," she started, emphasising those two words, "for their well-being." It was hard for her to confess everything like that, but she wanted to go on. "I feel like if I do this, then you'll feel better."

"What about you, though? Are you feeling any better?”

A stake through the heart would have been less painful than that question.

"No! No, I feel worse." A tear rolled down her cheek and Andrew wiped it for her. "And yet, there are days when I feel like I'm doing it for myself, too.”

"With time, you'll understand that's really how it is."

"How ... How do you know?" she asked, as a light tremor shook her.

"I know because me, my family, yours, Phil, your team, and your fans really believe in you. You just have to give yourself time to do it on _your own_. It's hard, I know. But you've done a lot, even if it doesn't look like it."

Demi was amazed by those words.

"How long is that going to take?"

"I can't answer that question for you now. It's totally subjective, but you'll make it through this."

"Thanks." She smiled at him, more lightly than before. "What about you? How are things at the study?"

Having finished University in three years, Andrew had enrolled in a Law School, and after three more years, once he was done with that, he had become a lawyer. He wanted to specialise in family rights, and that was the reason why he was working at a place that dealt with those and other matters. Meanwhile, he just kept studying and following courses. By definition of the law, he actually had to wait for another four years to have an exam concerning the area he wanted to specialise in, and only then become a real lawyer. Having to wait was hard, but he saw the following four years and the one that was about to end as a way to gain experience, work, follow courses to show he was ready to really help people. He was sure many others chose that career because of the money, while he had chosen it for deeper, more serious motivations.

The hot chocolate was then ready. Demi had put potato starch in it too, to thicken it and make it even better. She poured two cups, then set them on the table.

"Mmm, tasty!"

"I hope it came out okay," she said, settling down in front of her friend. "I already put the sugar in, but you can add more if you want. Oh, wait." She got up, opened the fridge and took some milk out. "We should put some milk in it to let it cool down, otherwise we'll have to drink it tomorrow."

They laughed together and felt their muscles relax. The sad moment they had before, which had actually blocked them, now seemed to have faded, leaving tranquility in its place.

Andrew got up and took some cookies out of a cupboard.

"There, now we're all set. Do you want some whipped cream?"

But Demi didn't answer. She looked at the hot chocolate and in the distance.

"If you eat, food will end up in your thighs, your legs and everywhere in your body, you fat piece of shit," a voice in her head said.

There. It had come back to haunt her. Ana, that's what she called her, in an abbreviation for anorexia. They had been friends for a long time, then Mia, bulimia, came along. Back at the clinic, she was taught to avoid considering food as her enemy, but her own self as the enemy. Those were words she never really gave any mind to, that, through time, meeting with her psychologist and her nutritionist, group meeting and other activities, had started, though slowly, changing the vision she had about her body, of her own self, of her feelings and her relationship with food. She had to resist.

"Don't eat anything else," the voice started up again. "Let's take it from the top, with a five hundred calorie diet, then we'll take it down to two hundred, just like the old times. Do you remember that? You hid it so well, and I think you can do it even better now."

"No, leave me alone! I don't want to!"

Demi screamed, and for a moment, she didn't even realize it.

"Demetria, hey." In a minute, Andrew was beside her. "It's her, isn't it? It's Ana."

"Y-Yes," she stuttered, as she felt her mind being only partially connected to the present.

The rest of it was wired to those skipped, half eaten meals, to the meals, to the fingers shoved down her own throat just to throw everything up, to the laxatives, to the websites she had been on, the Pro Anas, as they were called, where girls like herself cheered each other on while idolizing anorexia as some kind of goddess.

"You're so ugly, fat and gross. Doesn't it disgust you? All the food you scarf down and the fat that's in your body? Oh, I'm sure it does."

"No," she muttered.

"That's not true. I don't believe that, and you don't either. I'm your friend, Demi. I'm the only one who can help you and understand you."

She still remembered the rules of those blog, from which she had already strayed long ago, but that voice was so tempting right now!

"Demi, look at me. Look at me!" Andrew's voice was sweet, it seemed way more comprehensive than Ana's, but... "Look, I know it doesn't depend on you, on your willpower, because that's not enough to get through things like these. But she, Ana, is a disease. She's not your friend, she won't make you feel better, you know that."

"I don't ... I don't know. I don't ..." Demi scarcely tried, as confused as ever.

Her head was spinning.

Meanwhile, the voice just kept talking to her, repeating those things with its usual calming and reassuring tone. Demi grabbed at the table to keep herself from running away and vomit. She knew she wasn't going to let anything out, because it had been hours since lunch, but a part of her still wanted to try, go and weigh herself right then and there.

Andrew didn't know what else to say. He had talked to the people who were helping her, who in turn had told him to help her and make her understand that the disease wasn't a friend, and he had tried. He had never seen her fall back into it, or better, he had, but not first hand. Most of the time, he paid her visits when she was already a mess.

"Demi, let's do what the doctors said, okay? Just a bite. Slowly.”

She looked at the hot chocolate and the cookies in disgust, then grabbed one, bit a tiny piece and started moving it around her mouth with her tongue. That was the typical behavior of people who suffered from that type of maladie: keeping food in their mouths for as long as possible, until it somehow disappears, then rush to the bathroom to throw it out before it's too late.

"Now push it down. Slowly."

Demi hid it under her tongue.

"Let me see."

She opened her mouth without knowing what to hope for. For him not to see that she hadn't swallowed or else.

"Put your tongue up."

She refused.

"Demi, put it up."

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't want to frighten her. He had to be patient, doctors had warned him about it.

She finally listened.

"I figured you still had that."

For a moment, Demi was happy about not having lied to him.

Andrew was panicking. He looked at her, alarmed, and started breathing heavily, but tried to hide to avoid scaring her. The best thing to do was to get on the phone and call Dianna. _Now_.

"Stop this, Ana!" Demi suddenly screamed, holding the table even tighter, so much so that her knuckles turned white. "You're making me feel like I'm messed up in the head! I don't want you here, leave! You can't have me, not again!"

After screaming, she got up and ran away, locking herself up in the bathroom.

"Oh, my God!" Andrew exclaimed, finally picking up the phone and calling his friend's mother. The ringing that showed she wasn't answering were torture to him. "Pick up! Please, pick up!" he kept repeating. "Pick up, damn it!" he screamed, more frustrated than enraged.

"Hello?"

A sweet, angelic voice answered. It was young.

"Maddie, honey" he started, sweetening his voice tone and praying the little girl didn't notice his anxiety. "Can you get mommy on the phone for me, please?"

"Okay, how's Demi?"

She was awful, God damn it, awful! And he never wanted things to turn sour like that, with an afternoon that was supposed to be nice just become as horrible as ever.

Maddie was almost ten years old, she had been through so much because of her sister's problems, and it was best not to make her worry even more. She had suffered enough.

Andrew heard the little girl talk to her mother on the other end of the line. He explained her the situation and Dianna said she would have come right away.

"I'm coming in, Demi!" the young man exclaimed, serious.

But the door was locked. He cursed. What was she doing in there? It wasn't hard to imagine, but he just prayed she wasn't cutting herself other than vomiting. He had to open that door, one way or another. He called her name many times, but her silence just made his skin crawl. He couldn't hear anything, so maybe she hadn't ... or maybe she had, while he was on the phone.

 

 

 

Dianna had left Madison with Dallas. She had told the older one about the situation, then ran away, texting Eddie, who was out at the time. Andrew lived near them, and the car was in the garage, so she chose to go on foot. Dianna was running. Breathless, but running. Her little girl was in trouble, and she had to help her, bend over backwards if she had to, anything to help her overcome that crisis. Every time her daughter had a meltdown, she told herself that no, she couldn't go through that whole process all over again. But the fear of it happening would have probably never left her. She cried as she ran. Her tears multiplied by the second, so much so that she almost couldn't see where she was going. She didn't want to cry, she knew she had to be strong. Despite that, she still felt like the ones who did it weren't weak at all, and to her, that was the solid truth. Demi's psychologist had told her about it, and she had opened up at home. Anyway, the more Dianna cried, the more physically exhausted she felt, and that wasn't good for anyone. She prayed God to let her get there as soon as possible.

 

 

 

Demi stayed in front of the open toilet bowl for what felt like hours. Sticking two fingers in her throat to vomit would have been so easy! That way, she would have had a chance to get rid of all the food that made her so ugly and fat, that made her hate her body, just like Ana used to say. But she couldn't do it. She hadn't moved a muscle. She just stayed there, kneeling down, then stood up. She had even looked around for some kind of razor, or anything that could have helped silence that damned voice. Because of course now she was beginning to understand that her psychologist was right when she told her she was her own enemy. She was the one hurting herself, not the food. She didn't have to stop eating to be pretty, because she was pretty. As a matter of fact, she was beautiful the way she was. For a moment, she thought that cutting was the solution. Once she did that, she would have felt better, lighter than before. But it was in a minute of clarity that she really knew she didn't want to do it, at least not then, or as she hoped, not that day. If she cut herself even once, it was to feel better and punish her body while thinking she deserved it. Two opposing motivations, that in her mind somehow coexisted; because once the cuts were done, relief was always followed by self loath, the thought of having done the right thing by punishing herself. That day, though, she didn't want to. Maybe, as she told herself, she wasn't supposed to feel that kind of hatred, because if her fans loved her and believed in her so strongly, then that meant she just _had_ to have done something right. Right? She wasn't that sure about it. Back when she was at the clinic, and Madison and her family had gone to visit her for Christmas, her little sister had brought her a copybook full of messages her fans had written for her on social media. Those were encouraging, hopeful phrases, like:

_We believe in you!_

_Be strong!_

_We love you, and we will always be by your side._

Beautiful words with the power of moving her to no end. She knew she had to try and heal for herself, but that was hard, and she really didn't know if she was ready to do so.

"I can do this" she murmured.

She wasn't that strong yet, she hadn't healed, and she definitely wasn't confident enough. Despite that, she felt a little more sure of herself, and she wanted to fight. She was stronger than anorexia, bulimia and self harming put together. She didn't want to let those bastards win. She walked to the door with shaky legs and turned the key, then took a deep breath and got out.  

Andrew, who had a screwdriver in his hand, to open that damn door for sure, ran towards her, put the object to one side and looked her in the eyes.

"Demi! Oh, my God! How ... What ...?"

"I didn't do anything" she said. "I want to fight."

Fighting against diseases like those was not a walk in the park, and Demi knew that all too well. She jumped in Andrew's arms and he held her tight, cradling her and swaying from side to side. She started crying, and this time she didn't calm down right away, and on the contrary, as time went on, her tears and sighs just multiplied. They were heartbreaking and broke her friend's heart, who tried to console her as best as he could.

"I'm right here, Demi, hush now, okay?" he told her.

Sadly, that didn't cut it, and suddenly, the doorbell rang. Demi shot Andrew a puzzled look: Who could that be?

"I didn't know what to do, so I called your mother," he explained to her, hoping she didn't get angry.

She understood how much he had struggled because of her. With eyes closed shut, Demetria let him guide her, and when Andrew told her to sit down, she trusted him and did. It was then that she understood she was on the couch. Andrew opened up the door for Dianna, who, upon seeing Demi, ran up to hug her.

"My baby!" she sobbed. "Mommy's little one, how are you?"

"Mom!" The daughter hugged her, sobbing as well. "I'm feeling better. I had a bit of a meltdown, but it's gone now. Nothing happened.”

"Swear to me."

The woman looked at her, both serious and worried.

"I swear, mom." Demi automatically pulled up her sleeves because she figured that otherwise her mother would have asked her to do so. She had scars on her skin, but they were white, which meant they were from earlier on, not that afternoon. "I don't have any more of them anywhere. And I was about to throw up, but I didn't."

She looked at her so intently that the woman read nothing but sincerity in her eyes, and believed her. Her daughter wouldn't have lied to her about such a thing, not anymore at least, because she had promised to stop ever since she had got out of the clinic. She wanted to trust her, she really did, with all her heart, but she actually had to admit to herself that she sometimes had doubts because of that fear which never left her.

The voice wasn't there anymore, and Demi noticed that. It was gone and she was stronger. She didn't let it get to her, she had fought and won. But that was just a battle. The war, _her_ war, was still ongoing. She wiped her tears and enjoyed cuddling with Andrew and her mother, relaxing in the love-filled hugs and revelling in the warmth that always made her feel safe and secure.

"I want to drink that hot chocolate," she said after a while, with nothing but decision in her voice.

She really wanted that. Partially because she wanted to show herself she could take it, and partially because she had calmed down and felt like having it, just like before the meltdown. Both Andrew and Dianna smiled at her as they led her to the kitchen. They didn't ask her if she was really sure of it, because they didn't want to put any other doubts in her mind nor push her back into the tunnel she was trying to get out of. She sat down at the table, Andrew poured some for Dianna as well, and the three of them enjoyed their drink. Demi put some whipped cream on it, just enough to taste it. Ever since she had started eating and feeding herself again, she realized food had a taste she didn't even remember. It was good, and it made her feel good. During those days when she felt relatively fine, she had such thoughts and felt okay with herself, knowing she was trying to find some kind of balance, the kind she had lost track many years before. Despite the recent meltdown, she was now enjoying the cookies dipped in chocolate, thinking one was better than the other. The softness that dark liquid gave them and the things she felt as they slid down her throat was something indescribable, and so was the warmth of the chocolate as she drank it. She was no longer thinking of running to the bathroom to throw up, and she basked in the glory of that moment, unsure about how long it was going to last. Her mother and her friend tried to distract her by talking about other stuff.

"So," the woman asked, "are you planning anything for the holidays? You're friends, I imagine you _are_ going to do something together."

"We haven't thought of that yet," said Demi. "We haven't talked about it."

"That's right. We'll probably go walking somewhere. And we have the Chocolate Fair coming up."

"Oh, right! It would be nice to go there."

Demi didn't think she was going to go anywhere for the holidays that year. It wasn't like she never did, but she felt like she needed to be home with her mother and Andrew that year. Even with Carlie, who she got along with even if they didn't share that strong a bond.

Before leaving to get home, Dianna thanked the young man and hugged him.

"I don't know what I would have done without ..." she muttered, as a lump in her throat stopped her dead in her tracks.

"I didn't do anything. Demi was strong, and she pulled through on her own."

"Yes, but you were with her, and that counts for something.

Demetria didn't hear any of that conversation, because while they were still in the living room, she was in the kitchen. She had put the cookies and the cream away, and was now busy washing the cups and the spoons. It seemed like the least she could do, since Andrew invited her over and stood by her side. She got back to the living room and hugged her friend tight. She didn't thank him because she knew his help had come from the heart, and sometimes, there was really no need for words. Their glances and their love were enough.

"I'll see you tomorrow. I hope I will have finished that chapter in time for lunch."

"Alright, I can't wait!"

They saw a lot of each other, but despite that they still missed each other when they were away.

"I forbid you to study on Christmas day, Andrew!" Dianna exclaimed. "Take some time off, will you? It doesn't cost anything, and it won't be but good for you."

The young man gave it some thought. After all, both that woman and his mother were right: he studied too much, and he really needed a break.

“Alright.”

“Well done!”

“I love you,” Demi said to him, holding him tight.

“Me too. Friends forever?”

“Forever.”

They left that way, with another hug and a kiss on the cheek, knowing that that afternoon had been a hard one, with serenity and problems, between the present and a past which wasn't left behind yet and which had come back. All of that left them a bittersweet taste in their mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> 1: I did some research about the path to follow if you ever want to become a lawyer. I found what I wrote in the story: at least two years of University (which I raised to three because they didn't seem enough to me), three or more in a Law School (written in capital letters) then if someone want to specialise in something (I guess everyone does it, but I don't really know) they have to work for five years and spend a quarter of that time working in their field of specialization. That's when they have to study, follow formation courses and get positive feedback from lawyers in their field of choice, then have an exam, and after passing, finally be certified. The story is set at the end of 2011, and I don't know if the procedures are different now. I didn't find much material from that years, basing myself off of more recent stuff, from 2016.  
> 2: I documented myself on anorexia and bulimia, I looked up some information about the typical behavior of sufferers, symptoms and psychological causes which led people to have such problems. I even visited the Timberline Knolls official site, where their whole healing program is explained. Finally, I listened to videos and movies about it, as well as some testimonies to be as accurate as possible. I hope I did that right.  
> 3: In Dianna's book, Falling With Wings, it is stated that Demi visited weird websites about anorexia and bulimia. It was Dallas who told her mother, while she still didn't grasp the full extent of the situation, without giving it much thought. Of course I don't want to offend her by saying she's a bad mother, because on the contrary, she seems really sweet and in one word, marvelous. She wrote she didn't see the signs of Demi's struggles because she herself was struggling with a Xanax addiction, denying herself the fact that eating less and less every day was actually a problem. By denying her own maladie, she never realized about her daughter's struggles. I want to quote a passage from the book that explains this really well. Referring what Dallas just told her about Demi, she wrote:  
> "I walked away, completely ignoring her concerns. It wasn't the right thing to do and I'm horrified when I look back and see how lightly I treated the matter. But sometimes we so desperately want to believe the best about our children that we ignore the obvious. And I was still in denial about my own eating issues. In my mind, I believed Demi's weight loss was due to a growth spurt because that's what I wanted to believe. I even gloated she might get more jobs because she was thinner. Never once did a draw a line between the pounds she shed and the bullying at school.  
> 4: I don't know if back then, at the start of the 2000s, the Pro Ana and Pro Mia blogs actually existed, but I don't think so. I wanted to put that in the story to reference the fact that she surfed the Net to look for them, and supposedly read statements idolizing anorexia.
> 
> Now, this one goes out to anyone that's suffering from these or other diseases, who are self harmers, or feel down for any other reason. Please, as soon as you feel like something's wrong, seek help. Speak up. I know it's difficult, it's hard to understand how you feel, and sometimes you don't get why you're down, it's actually something I felt too because I suffer from depression and I'm miserable for a number of other reasons. But please, if you're not okay, let people help. It's nothing to be ashamed about. There's nothing wrong with suffering and falling apart. I really hope you'll pull through any kind of hinderance or struggle that's in your life.  
> Be strong.


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